A Diamond Sword and Torchlights

 

A week ago I started texting my new neighbors to find out how things work in our neighborhood.  Our old neighborhood was mostly flat terrain with homes spread wide apart on large lots, and many of the families loaded their kids into minivans or SUVs and chauffeured their children from house to house while our family walked the streets (mostly alone) with a wagon, experiencing just enough of the spooky dark and the chill in the air to make me feel like we were doing Halloween the way it was supposed to be done.  We would head out just as the designated hours started and watch for porch lights and hit almost every house.  But after searching the local papers and coming up empty handed on any sort of designated trick-or-treat hours for our new neighborhood, I checked with the neighbors and decided we didn't need to go anywhere else, there would be plenty of candy and Halloween spook within walking distance of our house.

 

In the car on the way home from the Y Sam was dressed in his skeleton from last year, and he talked about wanting to wear it under his Minecraft costume when we got home.  Eva whined that she wanted HER costume and when did she get to put on her costume I want to have my costume it's not fair that Sammy has his costume and where is mine.  I reminded them both that we were going to have dinner first, that trick-or-treating didn't generally start until dark. 

 

"That's forever," Sammy said and Eva immediately repeated. 

 

I told them it was only an hour.  Six o'clock.  We would go out at 6.  "That's forever," they both whined again.

 

They inhaled their midtown broasted chicken and pineapple and raspberries, asking with every bite if they could have some of the candy they'd brought home from school and whether or not it was six o'clock yet.

 

We bundled up in warm clothes with costumes layered over the top, and I threw a medium-sized tantrum over the fact that I bought Sam 4 pairs (4 pairs!) of black fleece gloves this fall so it wouldn't matter if he lost one here or there and here it was only October 31st and we could only locate one glove.  One glove.  Not even a full pair.

 

We stumbled out on to the back porch where Sam complained that he couldn't see because his cardboard enderman head kept falling forward and he couldn't carry his skeleton trick-or-treat candy bag because it was too heavy and he needed both hands for other things like his enderman head and his Minecraft diamond sword.  And Eva stopped in her tracks and crossed her arms across her chest and pouted because her witch's hat would not stop blowing off in the wind.  And I put away my gloves and my camera and started carrying everything except the kids themselves and we made our away down the yard and over the creek and up the cul-de-sac.  They argued over who got to ring doorbells and whether or not to go to the house with the scary dog and whether they were called "torch lights" or "porch lights."  And Eva refused to say trick or treat or thank you and sam mostly worried about where were all his friends from the neighborhood.  But in between all the parental challenge moments, we had the delight of being greeted by witches and skeleton pirates, the pure joy of running through bright yellow crunching leaves, and the laughter of children enjoying another spooky chilly Halloween night with their Mom, who by the way, wore a costume herself this year.

 

My own little Minecraft Enderman

 

 Eva's little witch tutu costume was cuter before she insisted that she wear one of Mommy's black jackets because her big brother was wearing one and it was only fair that she be allowed to also.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Spring Lessons

When the warm air finally arrived and most of the snow shrunk away from the driveway, we headed out for some outdoor play and ended up spending most of the day in the sunshine.  With a 3-year-old who wants to do everything her big brother does and a 6-year-old who wants to do things without his little sister tagging along and "messing things up" I often feel pulled in two directions at once.  But we dusted off the bikes and the soccer balls and the sandbox and occasionally took some deep breaths during some epic 3-year-old meltdowns and enjoyed our first REAL spring weekend.  And when I failed to follow the rules of soccer play, Sam asked me if maybe I wanted some lessons instead.  Lesson One: Dribbling.  Lesson Two: Stay close to the ball so it's harder for the opponent to take it away from you. Lesson Three: Use the side of your foot.

Lesson Four... Even if everyone has their own ball the three-year-old will cry that you're not playing with her enough so open the sandbox and give her something else to do.

Antlers and Fruit Punch and Frosting

When they filed in to the church and took their places on the stands, all of the jabbering and chatting that had filled the church as parents caught up with each other and younger brothers and sisters ran up and down the aisles stopped, and the noise faded and all eyes turned to the kindergarteners dressed in festive holiday colors.  Miss Kay and Mrs. Chichosz read parts of their Christmas story and the antlers of the children's reindeer hats bounced as they sang brief snippets of various songs.  Sam smiled for photos briefly but then took the singing thing very seriously.  When I wasn't wrestling Eva to try to keep her from falling backwards over the pew or kick Seun's dad's head in front of us, I tried to snap a few photos.  But mostly I grinned and occasionally sang along to the songs Sam had been practicing in the car all week.  After the program we entered the chaos of the church basement for some Christmas cookies and red fruit punch and a little time with friends, and maybe nobody noticed that Eva still had on her jammies which were already smeared with frosting and sprinkles from cupcake baking earlier in the day.

Holiday Spirit

After a long weekend away for Thanksgiving and a long week of fighting some sort of crud that seems to insist on hanging around long after it has worn out its welcome, we spent a weekend at home getting in to the holiday spirit.  We decorated the windows with snowmen and Christmas trees and elves and snowflakes. We made cookies in the shapes of bells and stars and Christmas trees and snowmen, covering them with ready-made-frosting (good idea, Barb) and green and red sprinkles before Eva would lick off all the frosting and declare "Done" and throw her uneaten cookie in the trash.  Sam helped by carrying the artificial tree (yes, yes, I know, artificial tree AND ready-made frosting... but we all make sacrifices in order to maintain our sanity) up from the basement and putting it together, and Eva got to plug in the lights and ooh and ahh.  We covered the tree with lots of ornaments that Eva insisted were "very special" (especially the one from 1976 engraved with Pooky), and Sam put the golden angel on top and we posed for a family picture (remembering our tree decorating night with Brooklynn last year) before the crud caught up with us again and we all slept long and hard through Saturday night.  (And ate Christmas cookies for breakfast on Sunday.)  Not a bad way to enter the home stretch towards the end of the year.

Notice that they spent nearly the entire weekend in their pajamas.  Why not?  It was 4 degrees outside. :)

Bedtime Stories

Life around our house has been crazy lately.  With the transition to kindergarten and a new afterschool care program and Mommy still trying to figure out which kid to pick up first when they're now on opposite sides of town, we're working on finding a new equilibrium.  Add in high priority urgent work projects and the death of a colleague and a new twice-a-week soccer practice and training for a half marathon, and you have a situation that calls for deep breaths and letting go and a little sharing of the work.  So when the laundry pile grew beyond my comfort level and both kids had pee accidents in one night while I was still trying to clean up dinner and figure out how to cobble together a packed lunch for a kindergartener, I outsourced the reading of Eva's bedtime story.  And it was such a joy to watch that I put down the laundry basket and sat in the rocking chair in my bedroom and listened as Sam pointed out the words and pictures in Eva's colors book and Eva said, "Good job.  You're such a good helper."

Another Family Chef

Back when I was only juggling one child, we used to do a lot of cooking as a family.  Sam would stand on a chair pulled up to the counter and help with cookies and pizzas and teetsa bread and pumpkin ravioli, all a little bit crooked but made with love and care, each new cooking adventure a decision to allow the kitchen to be covered in flour or sprinkles or grated cheese. From a very young age, Sam was allowed to help with chopping and rolling and cutting and stirring.  He got to experiment and create and taste ingredients while he covered himself and the kitchen in butter and flour. And I had both the time and energy to clean the floor and wash the dishes.  With child number two everything has been different and we haven't been cooking as frequently as a family.  There is the fighting and whining about what is fair and who got more cheese and why her pizza crust is bigger than mine.  There are tug-of-wars over the rolling pin or the salt shaker or the cookie cutters.  And there is the way my back screams at me when I bend over to dust up the flour or pick up the 30-pound toddler covered in egg whites.  But today while Sam was away at a birthday party and Eva and I had a little rare alone time, we made whole wheat dough and roasted peppers and simmered homemade tomato sauce and laid everything out for a mini-pizza dinner party.  Eva rolled out four little crusts all by herself, and when Sam came home he topped his with cheese and pepperoni and more cheese and more pepperoni.  And nobody whined (well not much) and nobody got hurt and I didn't have to bend over to sweep up the kitchen floor.

Another Season of Progress

 

I am down on my knees under the bleachers, retrieving Sam's baseball cap that Eva has thrown up and behind us, and the knee of my pants sinks into the wet mud and stains. It is not the first thing Eva has thrown in this general direction this season, and most tee ball nights she and I move circles around each other as she climbs and grabs and runs and teases and tests the boundaries of what she can get away with. I surrendered the battle over her having to wear shoes a long time ago, and tonight she's been playing with my car key like a little switchblade during the entire game, popping the key in and out and laughing. I gave her Sam's cap in hopes of getting the keys back before the end of Sammy's game.

A few weeks ago I had left Eva with a friend while Sam's blue team played a late game in the hot sun and I actually got to watch Sam nervously wait to be lined up at bat and run the bases like he was ice skating. I saw him walk slowly out to the infield and listened to him complain that he never ever ever got to touch the ball. I handed him his water and gave him 30 second pep talks during breaks, and I took pictures and cheered while he played. I commented to the parents in the stands that tee ball was a completely different experience when I wasn't wrestling a 2-year-old. Espn's dad, a father of 5 whose wife used to sit on a blanket next to the field with an army of small children while her oldest was just starting tee ball, said to me, "You realize who you're complaining to, don't you?" And I laughed.

My friend Tammy, who juggles 4 children and a full time job as an amazing photographer, recently posted a link to another mother's essay about what it means when people say "I don't know how you do it." The essay was about how no matter how many children you have and how long you're at it, you're maxed out. When I see other mothers juggling 3 or 4 or 5 children and I feel overwhelmed with exhaustion just managing my two, I wonder what I’m doing wrong, why this little girl who constantly challenges me emotionally and physically is winning the battle for control of our household and the keys to my sanity.

After I dust the grass and mud off my pants leg, I hand the cap back to Eva and I go to sit among friends on the bleachers. Eva puts the cap back on her head and goes to stand by the fence and jiggles my keys and I sigh as Sam and his team line up for the freezie pops that celebrate the end of another season of progress.